


Warmer colours

by Araboth



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Angst, Duty, F/M, My First Fanfic, Original Character Death(s), i don't know what I am doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 06:38:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5081467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Araboth/pseuds/Araboth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>an odd contract, a character exploration and a first fiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warmer colours

Well made clothes, a bit worn; she probably should have picked a warmer palette. Too long strides that made the servants following her grasp their skirts and startle after her often. She looked rather unremarkable. Perhaps a bit older than she appeared. Long, mousy hair; square hands and hips; not totally graceless, but not a traditional beauty by any sense of the word.   
Yes, a warmer palette, rust? Perhaps something brighter; something to match the determined set of her shoulders.  
The thought made him smile, red was probably her colour. The irony.  
Zevran watched her intently, the woman had a certain liveliness to her, looking around with open curiosity, intelligence and perhaps a bit of humour. He was hooked, the daughter of minor noble, the house well down on its luck; what's the point of killing such a woman on the eve of her wedding? And the violence the contract was paid for was not something common. He mentally shrugged and let it go; he knew well it was not his place to question, he was after all merely the instrument for someone's vengeance. Maybe in this case, the medium was the message. But intellectual acknowledgement of the fact did not stop the tiny voice in the back of his mind from asking more questions.  
He jumped off the rafters to follow, her frame and entourage well ahead. He pretended to browse several stalls around the market, smiling and making small talk with the merchants while circling closer to his target.   
He stopped, frozen in place when her laughter cut through all the noise. Years of training and the physical memories of punishment prevented him from turning around. Her laughter rang true, he could even hear her whole body shaking, honest laughter, the sound like water. Zevran hid the hint of a smile and haggled for whatever his hand was holding, his attention on that woman; she was on the move again and by the way her startled entourage started again to follow, he was sure on his assessment, those were not discreet bodyguards but merely servants.  
He was distracted by the merchant, to pay up or leave, so he left. He followed the woman from afar for a while, she was walking aimlessly, walking for the sake of walking, no rush on her part.   
Zevran followed the woman with care until she returned to the family home. He waited in the shade for a while, his hand on his hip, a look of utter nonchalance. His patience was soon rewarded as her laughter broke free again from a second floor window. He smiled; a thin, rueful smile. There was a saying, right? "El pez por la boca muere." Or something like that.  
He waited without waiting for a while longer, observing carefully the deliveries, the servants and the lack of stationed guards; this was not such an important family that security was a issue. But these were not faceless people to whom the death of one of their own would be quickly put behind. Let alone the macabre display that was demanded in the contract.   
Two weeks from today this would all be behind him. Cruelty or not. Not that it really mattered, tools have no judgement on how they are used.  
\---  
Argyris. An old name. Silver?  
An old name for an old maid. Charming.   
The story was strange enough without adding any other details. The eldest and only surviving child of a loveless marriage; him a a gambler with no charm who worked hard on burying his family name, her a frustrated social climber that trapped the wrong man. They clearly deserved each other, remaining under the same roof only because none could afford otherwise.   
Zevran smiled to himself. The joys of family life.  
The other two children, both dead. One a mercenary and the other "under mysterious circumstances". Likely gambling, or worst. No matter. They were both dead and buried long ago.   
Now, Argyris was too old for a first marriage, certainly past her prime and probably child bearing age. The marriage a mere facade then?  
Likely, the groom to be an elderly gentleman, whose proclivities were well known, almost as well as his many already stablished heirs.   
Interesting.   
No, the harm would likely be on her side; he could marry any other tolerant, obedient and poor noble's daughter. Her family, those were the ones to lose; bragging rights mostly, but certainly being welcome into polite society. Yes. The vengeance was on her family. No matter. In a few days she would be dead and buried. Her family less worried about her than the opportunity lost.   
Ah well. Vengeance when in blood is almost never pretty. Neither are grudges and this one seems it had a long time coming.   
"Argyris" -Zevran rolled her name on his tongue, refusing to feel anything more than a little curiosity. -"Argyris"- He said again and made up his mind about the gruesome display bought with his contract. He was not one for unnecessary cruelty to man nor beast, let alone to someone unknowingly caught in darker machinations. He knew well there were no innocents, ever, but saw little point in arranging for such pain -and trouble- before death. Also, there was no pleasure to be taken from such activities.   
\---  
Days came and the date arrived. Zevran keeping an eye on Argyris from rafters, corners and a couple of times, from the upper branches of a tree close to her window.  
He felt no guilt for what was coming. It was as inevitable, he might as well decide to take on the moons or the stars. No remorse, there was no place in his heart for that. The price of his soul paid for his life, every time; his ledger long in the red, as he continued to draw breath.  
He saw her try on her wedding gown, a pale, cold pink; thinking again on how she would benefit from a warmer palette. She never smiled at the gown, perhaps taking care of an old man who would rather be chasing stable boys was not something to look forward to. Zevran frowned. Perhaps it was just a change of scenery but still a cage? Poor dove, never really flew and was about to be caught by the fox.  
He waited for nightfall, well aware of the rhythm of the household and the little changes, here and there, that the excitement for tomorrow's wedding created among a handful of the servants. He paid particular attention to two young maids excitedly talking about some gift they had just received from their mistress. A valuable gift it appears. Zevran made a mental note of the conversation but dismissed it for the moment. Maybe he would take the time and look around for any other valuables that could be "gifted".  
After the house started to quiet down, most of the lights were out out. Zevran made his way into the tiny courtyard, slipping quietly over the sun baked roof, still warm; he disappeared into the courtyard shadows, listening attentively for any noise out of place. We went around the corridors in silence, noticing the threadbare rugs and the frameless portraits. He frowned at the clay candleholders. Somehow everything pointed more on the direction of a sale than a marriage, no matter how arranged. Something was off.  
Zevran shook his head and continued. Nothing of this mattered. Sunk into the shadows of the second story hallway, we gave himself a few seconds to clear his mind. Something was off, not with the taste of a trap, not with the feel of it either; but something didn't click and that small voice started asking questions again. He shook his head again, better get it over with then.   
The door made no sound, appearing to have been oiled recently; he gripped the door knob harder as he felt a faint breeze, the curtains moving as he closed the door behind him. Then he froze, Argyris sitting in arm chair, across the small room from him, even in the darkness he could see the faint pink of her gown, her hair in a loose bun in her crown.  
"You are here" Argyris said in a toneless voice, quiet but not quite frightened.  
"So you know why I am here then." Not a question. Zevran moved slowly, slowly taking hold of the handle of one of the daggers at his back. He was not expecting this welcome and no matter his good intentions, this job might require less finesse than he was willing to invest.  
"It was I who signed the contract." She pointed, slowly and with an open hand to her left, to another chair, old and equally dilapidated as the rest of the mansion. He nodded and sat slowly, his hand still holding the dagger under his wrist, ready to be sent with a flick of his hand.  
"There is no one else coming." She looked at him with a small frown. "You are far younger than I expected." She smiled one sided. "No. I really did not know what I was expecting". She moved her hands slowly, from the armrests to her knees. By then, Zevran has scanned the room without ever taking his eyes from her. There was no one else there, no suspicious noises and just her, looking straight up at him, more curious than scared.   
"Can I light up the lamp? I would like to see my death in the eyes." She asked but did not move. So Zevran stood up slowly, walked behind her to the window and felt her tense up; he drew the curtains closed and without taking his eyes off her lighted up the lamp. Walking back he sat down slowly, keeping the lamp between them and looking her straight in the eyes.  
She was looking back at him, just a faint twitch of her lips betraying any internal turmoil. Not even her hands were shaking.   
They looked at each other for a few seconds. She had brown eyes, nothing remarkable but he could see the remains of a pretty face.   
Her voice broke when she spoke. "But you are beautiful." A hint of surprise in her eyes. "Do you want to know why?"  
"No." Zevran placed the lamp on top of the piled books on the floor, the light dancing and casting strange shadows on both their faces. "But if you need to speak, I will listen." He mirrored her posture after deftly tucking the dagger in his boot. He kept his expression calm and avoiding any sudden movement. This was a woman who had made up her mind, but better to avoid any surprises that fear could bring.  
"Would you like a drink?" She asked looking at her hands. He shook his head smiling. "I would like some water, if you don't mind." Her voice thick.  
Zevran knew she was coming out of shock and if he was not careful things could go very wrong very fast. She gestured to her right, on a small table there was a carafe full of water and a simple clay mug. Argyris gestured to stand and Zevran stood up, quickly closing the gap, saw her hands clench her skirts, but there was no other movement. He left the mug on her hands that had finally started to shake.  
"I was the good daughter." She was not looking at him, but at the lamp. Both hands closed on the mug like she was wishing for other than water. "I was the obedient daughter and I did right by my brothers... Even when they left." She turned to look at him. "Even when they left me here." Her eyes were full of tears by then, but full of resolve, and perhaps something else he could not quite make. "He was no one's son, but he was kind and he made me laugh... I used to laugh a lot. With him. Long ago." She looked at him with an intensity that made his hand twitch for another dagger. "When I told Father, he sent him away. When he came back, had him beaten." She grimaced, still locked on his eyes. "When he came again, Father had him crippled." She looked down and sipped her mug, just to collect herself. "I was his last chip. The last gamble that he could make. Too late he realised that I was not worth that bet to anyone." Her face went blank, looking at him as he was just part of the furniture.  
Before Zevran realised what he was doing he kneeled at her feet and took her hands, leaving the mug to spill the remains water on the rug as it fell with almost no sound. A woman ignored and manipulated all her life, as the last one ever to listen, or perhaps one of the few to ever do so, he wanted her to know that he had taken her every word.  
Her hands tightened on his as she spoke. "I do not need comfort."   
"Not need. But want." He said smiling sadly at her. He would like to touch her face, but knew it would not be welcomed. Zevran waited, either for her to continue or signal that it was time.   
"This is his final bet. The one that would welcome him to the table."  
"Why not take your own life then? Spare yourself the pain you have paid for."  
"I am the dutiful daughter." And she smiled furiously, the light shining in her eyes speaking of will and strength that was beaten down but never erased. "I am the good daughter that will take revenge in death for the life she did not have."  
He nodded at her and stood up slowly, taking her with him. Argyris was trembling like a leaf when he put his arms around her, he smiled, finding her as tall as he was. Her hair had the scent of flowers, of fresh saplings, of running water. He remembered her laugher, like water running freely and he made up his mind then. Zevran pulled away slowly, seeing fear in her eyes. Fear and determination. He grabbed one of her hands slowly, bringing it up to his lips and kissing it softly, before placing it on top of his heart. Her other hand moved of its own accord to wrap around his waist.   
He kissed her lips slowly, featherlight; Argyris tensing up like a bow. Zevran kissed her again, then above the eyes, forcing her to close them. Kissed her lips gently, over and over until she leaned onto him. He could feel her hands trying to find purchase on his leather and finding none. He slowly took out the poisoned needle as he moved his hand to hold the back of her head.  
When she leaned in to kiss him, he could feel her smiling. She never felt the needle, never opened her eyes again.   
He hold her tightly, feeling her breath slowing down. When her hands started to slip down his body Zevran picked her up in a swift motion. There was only so much time before the poison would stop her heart. The blood would not flow after that and the butcher's work still needed to be done.   
He arranged the body over the tiny bed. Straightening the skirts and fishing out a dagger in the same breath, he kissed her brow before starting the work he was not looking forward to.   
Veins open, her throat had the faintest pulse still, a macabre doll on the bed, her face still, as in a gentle dream. He could not bring himself to mar her face; her pale pink gown soaking up the blood. He smiled. She knew. Red was her colour.

**Author's Note:**

> So, first fan fiction ever. Also, English is not my first language, so please please please, if you see something please let me know.


End file.
